


Night Light

by Hopeamarsu



Category: The Dead Don't Die (2019)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Coping Mechanisms, Dreams and Nightmares, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury, Near Death Experiences, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Therapy, Triggered Episode, Triggers, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27816151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopeamarsu/pseuds/Hopeamarsu
Summary: Officer Ronald "Ronnie" Peterson survived the night when the dead refused to die. How will this affect his life going forward?Please note the tags before going forward as this story contains triggering elements. Keep safe.
Relationships: Ronald Peterson (The Dead Don't Die)/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Night Light

There are hands all over his body.

Hands trying to grab him. Teeth trying to bite him, pull his flesh apart. Weight all over his body, trying to pull him under.

It feels as it was physical, happening in reality, he can feel all of them on top of him and he struggles to breathe. When he finally wakes up he’s drenched in sweat, hands shaking, eyes watery and his breath is laboured. The dream, or the nightmare, is always the same.

It takes a moment to Ronnie to orient and ground himself into his bedroom. He still feels he is shaking like a leaf but he takes comfort in the fact that he can recognize where he is. Familiar shapes in the dark, only the small light coming from LED strips that he has installed around his bed. It casts a warm glow in the bedroom, his night light in the darkness.

It’s been four years since that fateful night at the cemetery where he lost his friend and mentor Cliff, his crush/coworker Mindy and all those other people. He still hasn’t got any idea how he got away, how he was spared and he feels the weight and burden of it daily. PTSD, his therapist called it, anxiety and all that jazz. It gets better with help and exercises, but it will never vanish completely.

Survivors guilt. _Why him? Why not someone more worthy?_ Questions gnaw at him and try to pull him under just as much as the hands in his dreams. 

It took months for him to be able to sleep without the lights fully on and even now, four years down the road, there are things that he has to do before falling asleep. And a full-night’s sleep, from dusk till dawn, is a nice idea but nothing Ronnie will ever get on the regular. And when he does sleep, he is not fully relaxed as his back is always facing the wall, never the room or the window. But he is able to work (once an officer, always an officer) and speak with people, laugh even, and he holds on to those moments with white knuckles. And sometimes, when he gets tired enough, he can catch some nap time during the daylight hours. Its not ideal, but he can work with that. 

His bedroom has a king-size bed, but its dragged into the corner as far away from the window as possible. There’s no space under the bed, the frame is constructed in a way that doesn’t leave any empty space between the mattress and floor. He has one window in his bedroom and that has curtains drawn over it. Outside there are shutters in the window and Ronnie closes them every night with a sturdy latch. 

There are two doors in the bedroom, one leading to the hallway and another to the master bathroom. The bathroom has another door leading to his study and from there he can get to the balcony. He needs multiple escape routes, they are mapped down to the miniscule detail in his mind. The balcony doors are also checked nightly, Ronnie cannot fall asleep without making sure they are shut tight.

His trusted machete, the one he used in the cemetery, receives a sharpening every three months and is mounted on his bedroom wall. An eerie reminder of that night, when dead refused to die. He has weapons stashed in all of the rooms in the house, he knows their locations by heart. Checks on them regularly as well, makes sure all knives are sharp enough and guns are loaded with spare ammo to go. 

His therapist has him on several coping methods as Ronnie refuses to eat medication. The breathing exercises usually help when he wakes up at night, so he starts those. 

In. Out. In. Out. Five seconds in between. 

In. Out. Hold your breath. Release. 

In. Out. In. Out.

He is still working on those when he feels you moving next to him. It doesn’t startle him anymore, like it did in the beginning, before he got accustomed to your breathing pattern and the warmth next to him. He clings to that warmth, knows it means that you are alive and healthy.

“Ronnie, baby?” You ask, gentle and quiet. You do not touch him, that is something that you have agreed on. That might trigger something and he needs to be the one that reaches out. Only then you know it’s OK and he’s coming down from an episode. It’s hard to watch him go through this, he doesn’t deserve this, your sweet Ronnie. You itch to touch him, sooth the muscles on his back and murmur couraging words to his ears and take all the pain and anxiety away. But, as agreed, you wait for his signal.

After a few more minutes of breathing he finally moves his hand and reaches for yours. “I’m sorry for waking you up” he tells you, his voice low and raspy.

“It’s OK baby. Whatever you need.” You grasp his hand and bring it to your lips.

“Can I hug you? It’s okay if you don’t want it.” He nods and feels you wrap your arms around him. It has taken some time, has taken a lot of courage to let you sleep over. He remembers how much of a sweaty mess he was when he told you his life story, six months into casually seeing each other for coffee dates and scifi-trivia evenings at the local pub. How he feared all the work he had done on his own would not be enough and you’d walk out of his life. But you stayed, you understood and when you didn’t, you listened and learned. 

And now, in your arms, feeling your naked skin pressed against his, he feels calm.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr (also on Twitter), come say hi! :)


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